Happy Mother's Day Mom

May 7, 2011

Happy Mother's Day, Mom

I am on a mission, like all moms, straightening, dusting, attacking those

mundane tasks of housekeeping. As I move into the kitchen,

I glance at the clock and the numbers blink:

often 1:11, sometimes 2:22, or 3:33, 4:44, and 5:55.

They occur twice a day, of course, and in one half, I’m usually asleep.

But even then, sometimes I wake, and there they are: 1:11, 2:22, etc.

I notice them often enough to make me superstitious.

My mother believed in numerology,

and that when one noticed the numbers repeating,

it was loved ones in heaven, looking down, making a connection,

and letting you know that they were watching over you.

Of course, in reality, this seems a bit silly, because

the important parts of my mother are in me, and need no care.

Just like poetry is in me, she wrote her beliefs into my being.

The beliefs sit with me sometimes, just as my mother did so often,

dialoging about a dilemma, a challenge, a victory.

Sometimes it seems to be the time when I look at the clock,

and 4:44 appears, making it easy to remember:

Be kind, make lemonade out of lemons, always try to do things better

than the last time, and always, always go the extra mile.

Still, in lieu of the real thing, I like the numbers, a little visit

from my mother.

Considering the meaning of stanza

May 5, 2011

Considering The Meaning Of Stanza

Stanza means ‘room’ in Italian.

It’s a good thing because there are so many rooms

from which we write our lives (or deaths).

There is the living room, where lives are lived

or lost, yet in recent years no one who has died has a night there,

but often spends that last, earthly time in some cold other place,

missing out on the final conversations about his or her life.

The room with a view if you can afford it offers a chance for good talk

now and then. “Look, the sky has darkened to ready for the rain,” or

“the ocean seems particularly calm today” and

“you can see the mountains so clearly today; aren’t they gorgeous?”

Another room to consider is the bathroom where drama

can unfold, much that involves the slamming of doors and locking

oneself in, most especially if one is a teenaged girl. And then we notice

the bedroom, also high drama, especially early in a relationship,

or not so much if the fight has occurred, and then this room houses

lonely bedcovers and quiet, not the good kind, but the thick kind.

I like to think that the music room is one where quiet is welcomed until

cymbals crash, drums roll, and violins play until the tears flow. Here also voices

can scream, especially when the other kind of music enters the room, like rock ‘n roll.

In past times, the rec room was filled with box TV’s, ping-pong tables and bowls

of popcorn. Families who valued each other enjoyed recreation time with each other,

and even invited others in on occasion for a night of Monopoly and mixed drinks.

In some houses there is a sunroom, a delightful space with wicker and plants

and quilted cushions. Sweet tea is served, with cucumber sandwiches and tiny cakes.

Men don’t often appear.

The laundry room becomes a contented space where housewives

think themselves lucky to have moved into the Maytag brand of their lives,

And they spray and press and hang sweet-smelling clothes on the rack,

ready to carry to the bedrooms. This room plays second fiddle to the

other workroom of the house, that doesn’t even earn the name of ‘something’ room,

but its own designation, the kitchen, from the ancient German, kocina. This is the

room, the best room, one that nourishes more than the body and could easily be

called the home room. This is where lives play in and out, with fights and hugs and kisses

to show love and hate and shear wonderment at the goings-on in this room. It is where gifts

are given through measurement, mixing, and (today) microwaving,

and also received with gratitude for the gestures made.

How can I write a poem with a stanza or two, when there is so much to say?

Late Spring is the best!

May 4, 2011

Spring Fling

Today, I believe that spring’s really arrived.

I’m noticing green things appearing each day.

Finally, the tulips have made their debut,

and sweet small violets have taken their cue,

I’ve said goodbye to the crocus,

forsythia has faded away.

Early spring brought frost and snow,

And I wondered if winter would ever go.

Birds are gathering small sticks for their nests.

And behold the lilacs that have shown

lavender beauty along with the scent,

Plus the chives are up, along with the mint.

Spring’s definitely here, with all of its promise,

I count even the dandelions that flourish among us.

Learning About teaching Writing During Poetry Month

May 3, 2011

What I learned Writing A Poem A Day In April

I spent April writing poetry, a poem each day for all 30 days. Some days I had what I called comfortable ideas, and the writing was as easy as making a grilled cheese, something I have cooked a lot of, something I like to experiment with, and something I enjoy doing. Huh? I began to think I was up to something, for myself, and to apply to teaching. All during the month I worked, I thought about what my experience of being a writer meant as a teacher. Here is what I believe I learned:

*That writing for a deadline is not easy; especially if you desire something you are proud to share (or to turn in to a teacher). Thoughtful pre-writing is a key to preventing some of this. It’s rather like visiting the grocery to purchase plenty of varieties of bread and cheese on hand in order to create something genuinely edible.

*That creating an idea supposedly ‘out of the blue’ is also not easy, in fact, it was nearly impossible to feel that just any idea that popped into my head, and was started on the computer, or scraps of paper, was worthy. Grilled cheeses with ‘what’s on hand’ bread and cheese, at the last minute, are just what you’d imagine, feeds the stomach but not the soul.

*That reading other writers’ work, whether in a blog or in a published book, was of great value, to see what each were doing, to find comfort in the beautiful words. I read recipes for new ideas for grilled sandwiches, including grilled cheeses. Occasionally something pops out that I note and file away, so that when the time is right, I use the idea.

*That my reading of other poets and their poems was teaching me how they rhymed or didn’t, used rhythm, approached their topic, used broad ideas to make a point, or small ideas to make the same point, i.e., their poems showed me the end goal, and I was studying them over and over how to get there. (This time, I have to admit, I haven’t eaten many grilled cheeses from other grills, but there have been a few memorable ones, clearly made by masters.)

*That some days I was tired and dashed off something, then became disappointed in myself for not trying harder. Again, to throw something ‘on the table’ and call it a grilled cheese may or may not work, just like writing.

*That the feeling of a moment going well was terrific, and the struggle to create and make the words work for me was challenging enough to make me want to stop. This absolutely is the same for cooking; the having of enough ingredients in order to enjoy creating is critical to the process. The ingredients explained earlier fuel these feelings.

*That support through comments was not the only thing that kept me going, but they were a big boost to morale. Sometimes they pointed to something I hadn’t noticed and other times I was happy to see that someone complimented a line that I also thought was good. Of course it’s the same with cooking for someone; when they love part of your end result, and eat it with great gusto, what more could a writer wish for?

*That the actual discipline of doing a lot of something made me better, or at least I began to know more about my personal style—what I did well and what was more challenging. Making grilled cheeses throughout the years has made me somewhat proud of my achievement, and I am happy I know how to grill a good sandwich.

*That I was willing to take some challenges when I had the time to think through them. Taking risks is often an attribute of a master cook. To add a bit of cumin to the cheese, or special mustard sauce before grilling is evidence of someone who is thinking about new ideas, new approaches, and is willing to try them.

*That when I tried something new, and received some kind of support for it, I found myself willing to do something new again. Here I might add that a safe environment would be helpful. If I am willing to try something unique (to me at least), I might first test the sandwich on my husband, willing participant in eating that he is. Setting up a safe classroom setting for sharing new ideas is critical to the creative process.

*That I liked writing time, enjoyed the relaxation of putting words on paper, knowing I was creating something that I valued, and perhaps others would value too. It is the same with serving sandwiches that taste good to those I care about: I enjoy and relax when putting together unique ingredients for family and friends.

If I can translate this into a few points for students, I would say that writers in school require:

*Support for some process that isn’t ‘on demand’, but offers more relaxed deadlines

*Good mentor texts

*Direct teaching with models

*Time to write every day, or almost every day

*Support for something done well

Thanks for listening to this ‘cooking tale’. Bon appétit!

Something To Appreciate

May 2, 2011 At http://missrumphiuseffect.blogspot.com/, Tricia talked about different poetry anthologies, including one with rhopalic poems. She defines it like this from a book by Avis Harley, called Fly With Poetry: An ABC of Poetry:

Rhopalic Verse: (from Greek "rhopalon"--a club which is thicker at one end)
Lines in which each successive word has one syllable more than the one before it.

Trees

To define,

so many ideas-

branched complexity

each species demonstrates

surprising variety .

Bark displays

rough edges,

smooth symmetry,

and nature’s coloring.

Leaves’ ID

is palmate, parallel, trifoliate

and pinnate.

Leaf colors illustrate

lime, chartreuse, emerald, asparagus.

Trees offer

shade, cover, oxygen,

but mostly

eye candy.